


World of Westeros

by OrangeTabby



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Cybersex, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Friendship, Gaming, MMORPGs, Modern Westeros, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, World of Warcraft References
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-02
Updated: 2020-08-19
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:28:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25039996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OrangeTabby/pseuds/OrangeTabby
Summary: Sansa Stark has some questions about her new, unaccustomed, role as a healer in the new massive multiplayer online game ‘World of Westeros’.Will she be able to keep Arya, Gendry, Hot Pie and Sandor alive by mashing buttons and panicking?Why does every quest seem to involve killing innocent creatures?Why should she avoid venturing alone into the mysterious tramway?Most importantly, will she become closer to the striking and mysterious Sandor Clegane?
Relationships: Arya Stark/Gendry Waters, Sandor Clegane/Sansa Stark
Comments: 157
Kudos: 179





	1. Adventures in the Frozen North

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to the exciting world of online gaming! Non-geeks will be able to follow the story just fine, because Sansa also has no idea what's going on 😂
> 
> Rating will be changing to a smutty smut-fest E by the end of the story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to [ Prairie_Garden_Girl ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/%20Prairie_Garden_Girl%20/pseuds/%20Prairie_Garden_Girl) for her helpful feedback on this chapter as a non-gamer!

“Sansa, you know how you owe me a favour?”

Sansa lowered her book and peered at Arya. “I thought we agreed I’d make you a new dress in return for you cooking all the dinners last week. Not some unspecified favour.”

Arya leaned back on the couch with a sigh and cupped both hands around her mug of tea. “Never mind the dress. I’ve changed the deal.”

Sansa let the book, a sizeable history of Stormlands fashion design, flop down the rest of the way onto her lap. “You don’t get to change the deal afterwards, Arya, that’s not how deals work.”

“This will be easier than dicking around making me a dress,” Arya said, shrugging expressively.

“I like making you clothes,” Sansa objected. “My petite range has been amazingly popular, and it was all inspired by you.”

Sansa’s clothing boutique, Small Wolf Tall Wolf, specialised in less common clothing sizes, providing flattering garments for people who had trouble buying items off the rack in mainstream stores. Everyone else in the family worked for the Stark family sustainable forestry business, but equitable fashion had always been a passion for Sansa.

Arya waved her hand, almost sloshing tea over the rim of the mug. “And I eternally thank you for providing jeans I don’t have to get shortened before I can wear them. But this is important, we need a priest.”

Sansa blinked. “Arya I’m a seamstress, not a Septa.”

“No San, there’s a bunch of us from work wanting to group up to play that new massive multiplayer online game, World of Westeros. We need a healer for our levelling group, our, ah, team if you will. We had Lommy lined up because he usually games with us but he’s decided to take up bird watching instead.”

The changed nature of their bargain still occupied Sansa’s focus. Making a dress seemed a fair exchange for a week of dinners. Just the two Stark sisters lived in their Winter town apartment, unless Arya’s boyfriend Gendry stayed the night, so they usually divided the chores up equally.

“You know I’m not really a computer person,” she hedged.

“You loved playing Dream Daddy,” Arya said indignantly. “You cried when the Daddies got married at the end.”

“That was a lovely game,” said Sansa, misty eyed with the memories of the adorable Daddies. Forming relationships with other single Dads. Living their best lives with their cute kids. She shook herself, then frowned at Arya. “But I’ve never played games with other people, unless you count that one when we were kids where we ran peoples lives and you deleted the swimming pool ladder so they drowned. I’ll be terrible at it. Would my computer even run it?”

Arya made a dismissive gesture. “Gendry can upgrade it for you, he’s the hardware guru in our IT department. He’s already done Sandor’s home computer and that piece of crap runs like a charm now. We all got sick of the big guy glitching out in everything we played together.”

Sandor. That name sounded familiar.

Sansa snapped her fingers as she remembered.

She had a vivid recollection of getting berated by a huge, hairy, scarred man last time she visited Arya at work. His striking presence had transfixed her.

“Isn’t Sandor that mean security man?” Sansa didn’t bring up her recollection of his appearance. He couldn’t help his scars. Being mean was far worse.

“He’s not m…” Arya paused and scrunched up her nose. “Okay yes he’s a dick. Sandor’s alright though, once you get to know him.”

Sansa frowned. “He told me off for staring at him, but I wasn’t.” She felt her cheeks flush red with embarrassment. “I was looking at the cut of his shirt. A, um, big strong man like that needs a more fitting cut. Maybe some cunningly placed darts. Then I thought if I ever did a man’s clothing line, I’d like to cater for gentlemen like him.”

“Gentleman isn’t the word I’d use to describe Sandor but okay.” Arya snorted. “He probably doesn’t even remember you. He hates basically everyone. Getting shitty at people is a daily thing. He’s the company’s best security person though, and Dad likes him. Fuck, even I like the cranky bastard.”

Sansa was dubious, but she let it slide. “Who else is in the group?”

“Hot Pie is our other regular gamer.”

“Well Hot Pie is nice,” said Sansa, relieved. “I can talk to him. He always gives the best baking tips.”

Arya rolled her eyes. “You’ll be fine, it’ll be fun. I’ll get you set up with some coms.”

“Coms?”

“Communication equipment. Typing is too slow so we usually game with voice chat.”

Sansa had a vision of the group in their respective homes, surrounded by old fashioned CB radio equipment. “Oh like truckers use?”

Arya blinked and looked at her askance. “Sure Sansa, like truckers use. From fifty years ago. Before the internet.”

Sansa nodded and made a mental note to look up the appropriate lingo to fit in with the group.

The idea was starting to grow on her.

***

Sansa adjusted her headset, still disconcerted by the microphone positioned in front of her mouth. “I need eight mangy wolf pelts,” she enunciated carefully. “I repeat, eight mangy wolf pelts. Over.”

“Sansa you can go ahead and kill those wolves,” said Arya’s voice over the headphones. “I’m on the other side of the Frozen North zone right now waiting for Hot Pie and Gendry to pull finger and join us online.”

“Um, roger that,” said Sansa. She squinted at the screen. Her game character was tall, slender and had purple hair and pointed ears. The person looked out of place standing in a snow-covered field, surrounded by snow-covered trees, wearing a light summer dress. As Sansa watched, her character, Alayne, did a little animated jiggle, causing her breasts to bounce merrily. Sansa winced. She had spent a long time getting her elven woman to look perfect in the character creation screen. Having her creation getting too… flagrantly bosomy was somewhat off putting. 

A chime sounded in Sansa’s ear. An electronic woman’s voice said, “a new player has joined the channel. Please welcome…” there was a pause and a gruff man’s voice said, “fuck off I’m not giving you my name fake bastard cunt,” and the woman’s voice finished “…to the channel.”

“Sandor, you grumpy shit,” said Arya’s voice. “Welcome to the game.”

“Aye,” grunted Sandor.

It was strange hearing him so close in her ear.

A little shiver ran down Sansa’s spine when she remembered the sheer physicality of his presence. Sandor had been unpleasant, but he had certainly made an impression.

She was a professional, Sansa reminded herself. It was her job to notice people and think about dressing them. To consider their body shapes and how clothing could work for them.

“Maybe you could join Sansa? Her toon hasn’t moved in the past five minutes, eh Sansy?”

“What? How do you know?” said Sansa, startled out of her reverie, “I mean, ten four over that. Or ten five? I don’t know.” Her character jiggled again, and Sansa cautiously pressed the W key to make Alayne walk forward towards a snowy hill. The terrain did look like the far North, which it was supposed to be based on. The entire game had been modelled on the real lands of Westeros, but changed just enough to create a fantasy atmosphere. Each of the Seven Kingdoms had their own zone, with different difficulty levels of monsters and quests for their characters to adventure in. “There, see, I’m playing. I’m walking. This is fine. Just walking.”

Arya sighed audibly. “Just collect some pelts Sansa.”

A notification flashed up on her screen:

<Hound has joined the party>

A short, red headed character that Sansa recognised from the character creation screen as a ‘dwarf’, ran over to her.

Sansa wasn’t sure why they had such odd choices for races. Elves, dwarves. Gnomes. Orcs and Trolls. All ‘classic fantasy races’ according to Arya. Why not Children of the Forest, or giants or Deep Ones? At least those were real.

“Girl,” said Sandor over her headphones. “Arya’s sister. I’ve got the same quests as you.”

“How do you know that? Um. I’m Sansa by the way. Hi Sandor,” said Sansa. She huffed at the screen. She could do this. She promised Arya she’d play this game, so play she would. “Roger that on the mangy pelts. Over.”

Sandor muttered something that his microphone picked up as “seven hells,” though that seemed to Sansa to be a little extreme for just gathering mangy pelts.

She didn’t particularly want earn a rebuke over the coms so she moved her character towards Sandor’s, figuring he would know what he was doing more than her if he’d done this sort of thing in other, similar, games.

Hound suddenly took off towards some wolves wandering around minding their own business nearby.

Sansa moved her mouse pointer so she could better see their surroundings. The scenery really was very pretty, made even more picturesque by the charming woodland creatures frolicking around. A squirrel sat eating a nut at the base of a tree, birds chirped in the background and the ambient music of the game swelled into a crescendo reminiscent of wholesome outdoors and fresh air.

Sansa smiled. She could get used to this.

Sandor’s dwarf pulled an enormous axe out and swung at a little wolf. It gave a tragic whimper and fell to the ground, dead.

Hound knelt beside the sad corpse, apparently checking the body for something.

Alayne cheerfully jiggled her bosoms as Sansa stared at the screen in horror, her mouth dropping open.

“Mangy pelt on that one,” said Sandor. His character stood up and ran off towards the next wolf, axe in hand.

The birds chirped sorrowfully. The chittering of the squirrel sounded like a rebuke.

“Do we have to kill them?” whispered Sansa. “Isn’t there another way to play? I’m supposed to be here to share my magical energy and heal people, not to do wolf murder. Um, over.”

There was a lengthy pause.

A low muttering came over the coms, then “You’re making the frozen North safer,” said Sandor abruptly.

Sansa remained unconvinced. “By collecting mangy pelts?”

“The quest description says the wolves have been attacking local children,” said Sandor. “By clearing the excess population, you are keeping children safe. They are all stuck inside that fucking building where we picked up these quests. They want to be able to go outside.”

Arya made a choking noise, but that explanation did make Sansa feel better.

“Go on Sans,” said Arya. “Unleash that holy smite spell.”

Sansa examined her spell bar as something else occurred to her. “Roger that, but why would I need to smite something? What gods do I follow that they feel they need to smite things? I would rather heal. Over.”

“You just need to grind to get XP. Then you can level your toon and we can do dungeons.”

Arya sounded like she spoke a foreign language, but Sansa had already gathered from some pre-game study that her character would get more experienced the more she played and would gain access to different abilities and skills. She was vague about dungeons, but according to Arya they were special adventures you needed to be in a group to do. A group with a dedicated and competent healer. Her.

“Isn’t this an RP server?” asked Sandor. “So we should probably cook up some kind of justification for our adventuring group.”

“Shit,” said Arya. “I keep forgetting about that. Fucking Hot Pie picked this one. I wanted to go player versus player and kill some noobs.”

“What’s an RP server? Over.” Sansa was starting to feel more lost. RP, player versus player, noobs. A whole lingo existed that she didn’t understand. She was only just getting a handle on their coms-speak.

“It means if someone asks your character to go into a private room of an Inn with them, don’t.” Arya sounded amused, for some reason. “RP means role-play.”

Sandor snorted. “I heard there was an underground tram between the ‘Winterfall’ and ‘Queen’s Landing’ zones where most of the online fucking takes place.”

Sansa gasped. “What kind of game is this?”

Killing animals and online… intimacy. Sansa was no stranger to sex, though her ex Harry had said she was a prude and sex was currently something of a sore point, but she couldn’t imagine how it would work in a game.

“You’ll be fine Sansaroony. Just stick with one of our group and no one will bother you.” Arya’s voice sounded matter of fact. “My toon is male, so no one hassles me. Gendry is taken, obviously, Hot Pie is ace, and Sandor is…. whatever the fuck Sandor is. We’re a group of friendship and safety.”

The chime sounded in Sansa’s ear again whilst she processed all the new information.

She could do this.

“A new player has joined the channel. Please welcome…” this time the voice was more familiar, “Hot Pie is a perfectly valid name, why do I have to deal with this every time?” and the electronic voice concluded, “to the channel.”

“Hey folks,” said Hot Pie’s cheerful voice. “How are we all today?”

Sandor grunted something that might have been a greeting.

“I’m killing yetis waiting for you and my ridiculously slow boyfriend,” said Arya. “While our healer and tank have moral debates about killing fake animals and cybering.”

“Hey Hot Pie,” said Sansa. “I’m helping to humanely cull wolves, and not visiting Inns with strange men. Over.”

“Well good for you, Sans,” said Hot Pie. “Those pelts will save the world.”

“Less talk, more playing Sansa,” said Arya. “Then you can catch up to us.”

“Over here,” said Sandor.

Sansa’s character looked around. A short distance away Hound was standing surrounded by corpses. Alayne jogged over to join him.

“That’s a big ten-four,” said Sansa, remembering she should try to be professional on the coms so the others could understand her. “Are those troll things? Over.”

Sandor hummed an affirmative. “Aye, according to the quest log they are trying to stage a military coup of this region, so we need to keep the area stable for the locals who just want to live in peace.”

“I see, that seems reasonable. Over.”

“Loot those corpses,” Sandor said before running off towards another group of enemies.

There was a dress in the items she picked up that her character could wear. It seemed to be the only good thing amongst items labelled as ‘trash’. Things like broken teeth, more pelts and ragged clothing. Why would the troll-people be carrying trash around?

Sansa carefully clicked on the dress to equip it on her character.

The dress had odd cut out sections exposing large swathes of her character’s torso. The ‘fabric’ appeared a dull puce in colour, which clashed with her hair, but she felt most upset about the cut. A revealing garment wasn’t a bad thing, as such, but the way it had been designed and constructed was simply implausible without extensive boning for structure and tape to stick it to the body.

She was offended on behalf of her fake online person being given such shoddy workmanship to wear. Even though it was made of pixels and not fabric.

“Well that will never do,” Sansa muttered to herself, using her mouse pointer to drag her previous garment back onto Alayne.

Her previous dress, or technically ‘robe’ according to the item description, looked pleasingly tasteful, with cream fabric with red detailing, off the shoulder and flattering. She nodded at the screen and followed Sandor.

Several piles of troll corpses later, Sandor’s dwarf stopped.

“You had an upgrade drop,” Sandor said over her headset. “Why aren’t you wearing it?”

“Oh no, it was ugly and implausible,” Sansa replied.

“It was ugly,” said Sandor flatly. “And implausible? How the fuck?”

“Yes, the cut was unflattering and unsound, and Alayne doesn’t suit that shade of puce at all. This dress I started with it much nicer. Look at the detailing on the bodice.”

Alayne obligingly chose that moment to jiggle her breasts. Sansa sighed.

“It’s that stats that are important,” interjected Arya, with a long-suffering air. “Who gives a shit what your character looks like? You’re being shallow.”

“It’s not shallow to want a character that looks nice,” said Sansa.

“Sansa does have a point,” said Hot Pie. “If you have a particular character concept in mind.”

Sansa wasn’t sure what Hot Pie meant by character concept, but she knew what she liked and shoddy workmanship was not it.

“Besides, all the wolves and trolls and things are hitting Sandor, not me,” Sansa pointed out instead. “I don’t need to have better statistics. Over.”

Sandor’s sigh gusted through his microphone. “You should still equip it.”

Sansa scowled at her screen. “But it’s ugly.”

“The stats are better.”

“It’s still ugly.”

“Look at my character, girl, I look fucking ridiculous, but these legs have a plus one to my stamina.”

Sansa zoomed her camera in to examine Hound. He certainly did appear different to when they started playing. He had chainmail shorts on instead of long trousers, exposing his lumpy knees.

“Chainmail shorts,” she whispered. “That’s a crime against nature.”

“I’m pretty sure whatever fucked up way these trolls reproduce is the crime against nature, but yes the chainmail shorts are fucking ugly and I’m wearing them, anyway.”

Sansa frowned at the myriad of corpses slain by Sandor and had a sudden and uncomfortable feeling about troll babies. She shook herself. It wasn’t real.

She followed Sandor, trying out the new instant cast healing spell character now had access to.

“Clothing is important,” she said as she trotted behind him. “When people are dressed in flattering garments, they feel good about themselves. It gives them confidence and self esteem. Over.”

Sandor snorted. “Some people are irremediably ugly, girl. Can’t dress up a piece of shit and make it look like anything other than a piece of shit.”

Sansa’s heart broke a little because she suspected he was talking about himself.

She also wasn’t sure what to say to a man she hardly knew about something so personal.

She looked at their characters on the screen and gasped.

A very large and impressive troll was sneaking up behind Sandor.

“Oh, oh. Ten thirty-three, Big Daddy is in the building,” said Sansa, panicking at the thought Sandor’s character might suddenly get hurt on her watch. “Um, Papa Bear has come into the house. Over.”

Sandor sounded mystified. “What the fuck?”

“Are you okay, Sansa?” said Hot Pie, his voice genuinely concerned.

Arya laughed. “I’m sorry, did you call Sandor Daddy? Because you might need a private channel for that.”

“Shut up Arya,” squeaked Sansa. “I’m trying to say there is a huge troll thing behind him.”

“Shit,” said Sandor, whirling around to confront the creature with his axe. “Die fucker.”

The creature attacking Sandor had a little plate above its head with its given name on it, rather than a generic one saying the type of creature. Apparently that meant it was a ‘mini-boss’ and was more difficult to dispatch than everything else around the area. It seemed more awful killing something that had a name, but Sansa diligently healed Sandor with her magic as he hacked away at it.

Sansa’s whole being focused on the little green bar above Hound’s head that indicated his health. Her job was to keep it full as the huge troll attacked him. She continually clicked on each of the healing spells Alayne could use, one that quickly healed a certain amount of health points and one that restored points over a period of time.

The troll snarled and snapped as Hound valiantly battled it with his axe. Sansa poured her magic into the warrior, determined to aid him as best she could to defeat their foe.

Sansa was concentrating so hard on the most efficient way to time her heals of Sandor that she hardly noticed the electronic voice saying “A new player has joined the channel. Please welcome…”

She jumped as Gendry’s voice suddenly sounded in her ear. “Fucks sake, Arya, I need to disable this name function on the coms server. It’s lame.”

“…to the channel.”

“Good of you to finally join us,” said Arya.

“Aye, yes, hello everyone.”

With a loud groan the creature Sandor fought slumped to the ground, slain, and Sandor’s warrior stood proud, whole and unscathed from the encounter, thanks to Sansa.

“AHH WE DID IT!” yelled Sansa. The rush of excitement when the creature fell was unexpected. They’d worked together to defeat a terrible enemy. Sansa’s heart raced, her breath shallow and fast.

A startled silence overtook the coms.

“Our healer and tank have been bonding,” said Arya.

“I… see…” replied Gendry.

“She’s not fucking bad at it,” said Sandor grudgingly. He cleared his throat. “We’ve almost caught up in levels. We’ll be able to leave this zone and join those other cunts now.”

“Don’t call me a cunt, you cunt,” said Arya indignantly.

“Play nicely children,” said Hot Pie.

Sansa looked around the area that she and Sandor had just been traversing. “Do we get to come back? I like it here. Over.”

Sandor huffed a laugh, which sounded odd through his microphone. “You didn’t like it when we were collecting pelts.”

“That was before I got into the story,” replied Sansa loftily. “And I realised that this was fun. Anyway, it seems a shame just to leave everyone here to manage without us. What if the wolves start attacking children again? Over.”

“You can skin yetis in this next bit,” said Arya.

Sansa made a face at the screen. “That sounds awful.”

“They are evil yetis,” said Gendry soothingly.

“Oh are they planning on a political upheaval like the trolls?”

“Worse,” said Sandor, “they are plotting an attack on the nearest city.”

“Okay, let’s keep levelling.”


	2. 'Deep' Encounters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to [Prairie_Garden_Girl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prairie_Garden_Girl/pseuds/Prairie_Garden_Girl) for once again performing a Non-Gamer Comprehensibility Check for me!
> 
> I also made a little picset for this chapter!  
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/159497572@N07/50103346671/in/dateposted-public/)

With a small flutter of an emotion she was hesitant to examine too closely, Sansa noticed that Sandor was stationed at the boom gates leading into the Stark Forestry compound.

“Let’s see some ID,” Sandor growled without looking up when she walked up to the pedestrian window.

None of the security people had ever asked her for ID at the gate before. “Oh no, I only have pants,” Sansa blurted. “My bag is back at work.”

Sansa held up her bundle of Hot Pie’s checkered chef trousers, which now sported a generous expandable waistline.

Sandor looked up quickly, the unscarred side of his face flushing pink for some reason. “Stark girl,” he said. “It’s fine, you don’t need ID.”

Sandor’s shirt pulled tight across his biceps and Sansa had the sudden and profound desire to remove it from him and adjust it professionally.

She eyed him whilst trying not to appear like she was eyeing him.

“Will you be playing this weekend?” Sansa asked with forced nonchalance. The thought of spending more time online with her friends was oddly exciting. They had plans to travel to the area around Queen’s Landing in the game. The zone was allegedly thickly forested and beautiful, and Sansa couldn’t wait to see it.

Sandor leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms, which short-circuited the part of Sansa’s brain trying to not stare at how tight his shirt was. “Aye,” he replied. “You?”

“Yes. I’m looking forward to getting some healing practice.” Sansa’s fingers twitched with the urge to measure Sandor.

“You’re a natural fucking healer,” he said. “Better than that Lommy cunt we had in other games.”

“I wonder how his bird watching is going.”

“Hopefully well enough that he doesn’t join us online.”

A car pulled up to the boom gate on the other side.

“Well I’ll let you get on with your work,” said Sansa, not wanting Sandor to get in trouble for talking on the job. “See you online.”

Sandor nodded and raised a hand as Sansa scurried away.

Her breathing was shallow as she walked towards the cluster of buildings that constituted the Stark Forestry headquarters. It was so odd seeing someone in real life after spending time online talking to them. It was certainly easier to talk to Sandor online without having to get distracted by the cut of his shirt.

She was still thinking about Sandor’s arms when she almost collided with someone in the entryway to the building that housed the staff rooms and cafeteria, where Hot Pie worked.

Sansa looked up.

Her heart fell.

Stark Forestry Head of Marketing, and Sansa’s ex-boyfriend, Harry Hardyng, stepped back from where he had caught her upper arms.

Ever since he had looked at her and said, with utmost gentle honesty, that she was bad at sex and they therefore had to break up, Sansa had avoided him. She often visited Stark Forestry, but Arya usually hacked Harry’s work computer when Sansa was due to visit and caused enough havoc with his documents to keep him busy and out of Sansa’s way.

Sansa reluctantly pasted a smile on her face and looked up at her ex. Harry was as golden-haired and conventionally beautiful as usual. All dimples, blue eyes and a vanilla sort of appeal. Though the more she stared, the more she noticed his face utterly lacked character compared to Sandor’s. His arms were nothing to write home about. She had no desire to measure any part of him.

He had not even been a very good boyfriend, she realised now that she was faced with him in person.

Lackluster sex aside, he had never wanted to talk about anything other than himself. They had no interests in common. He’d been her first proper boyfriend and she was in no hurry to obtain another one after that experience. Frankly, she’d been relieved that he ended the relationship before she could, because at least then she got the excitement of being the injured party in the dumping.

Harry flashed his perfect teeth in a smile. “Sansa, how enchanting to see you.”

Sansa was not enchanted. “Hello Harry.”

He looked her up and down, lingering on her breasts which were safely ensconced in a serviceable, royal blue cashmere sweater. “You look great. What are you up to these days?”

Sansa bared her teeth in reply, assuming Harry would be oblivious enough to interpret it as a smile. “Not much, you know, work. And I’m playing an online game with friends.”

Harry brightened. “World of Westeros?”

Sansa blinked in surprise that he had even heard of it. He usually like to boast about his prowess in first-person shooting games, not role-playing games. “Oh. Yes. That one. I’m a priest.”

Harry raised his eyebrows. “An avatar of virtue and purity, that certainly tracks, eh Sans.”

Sansa stared blandly back at Harry, determined not to react to his jabbing. She wondered what a holy smite would look like if cast at his head. “Indeed,” she said.

“Well I’m a priest too,” said Harry, flashing his orthodontically approved grin, “of course I’m a shadow priest for maximum damage. A true bad boy, a swashbuckling mountebank of a priest.” He did what looked like a casting magic spells animation from the game at her and said in a deep voice, “FACE MELTING.”

Sansa had no idea at all what he meant by either his words or his actions. She mentally filed it away to ask Arya later, whilst nodding politely.

Sansa covertly examined Harry as she did so, trying to recall the appeal. Sometimes, after she would resort to bringing herself to a mediocre orgasm during sex, he would make her a cup of tea in bed as she rested in a pallid afterglow. That had been nice. She liked tea.

He seemed to expect a reply, so she said, “those wolves won’t know what hit them, Harry.”

Harry smiled again. “Look me up online if you want a good time, for old times sake. ‘Knightofthevale’, all one word.”

Harry’s assistant, Cissy, came rushing over. Even knowing that she and Harry had maintained an off and on intimate relationship for years, Sansa couldn’t help but admire Cissy’s ability to jog in stilettos.

“Well, important business calls. I’m sure you need to run along to your little clothes shop.” Harry made finger guns and turned to walk in step with Cissy.

Sansa clutched Hot Pie’s trousers tighter and imagined a holy smite spell aimed at the middle of Harry’s back.

***

On the first morning of the weekend, Sansa found herself in the lush temperate forest beside the bustling online metropolis of Queen’s Landing.

“Why are there so many flowers here?” she asked Sandor. They were the first of their group on for the morning, though Arya had yelled through Sansa’s door that she would join after having a shower.

“You can pick them,” replied Sandor, whose character was still in the city, doing business at something called the Auction House. “There are plants to collect in all the zones.”

The Queenswood forest was a low-level area, so Sansa was safe to wander alone without worrying about getting attacked by wildlife or bandits. She wouldn’t need to melt anyone’s face, which apparently was what people called it when priests did damage spells instead of healing. She had access now to a damage spell named ‘Mind Flay’ which just seemed extremely unethical and Sansa refused to have it on her toolbar of spells. Instead she put the ‘Renew’ healing spell on there twice, which was much friendlier.

Sansa squinted at the flower. It looked somewhat like a blue Winterfell rose. “I can pick flowers in the game for a job?”

“Aye, it’s a standard game mechanic. You turn them into potions.”

“Or I could just pick them?”

“And sell them, aye.”

“Or just… pick them?” Sansa swivelled the camera around the lovely flower and smiled at it.

Sandor’s microphone went staticky in the way Sansa had learned meant he was sighing. For some reason he did that a lot. “And what,” he said, “stare at them in your inventory?

“I might role-play as a florist. Everyone keeps saying we should role-play more.”

Arya and Gendry had taken that idea too much to heart because the other day Sansa had found what looked like a ninja costume and an old-fashioned blacksmithing apron flung on the floor beside the couch. Along with a pair of boxer shorts and a G-string.

Sansa shuddered. At least they hadn’t asked her to make them the costumes.

“You could sell stacks of plants in the Auction House.” Sandor’s voice interrupted her regrettable train of thought. “Make a fuckton of gold.”

“I’ve seen the Auction House building,” replied Sansa, shoving the thought of the costumes away in the vault in the back of her mind where the memory of her parents naked together in the pantry that one time also lived, “but I wasn’t sure how it works.”

“You post your item for sale and players either bid on it or buy it outright. It’s literally an auction like those sites online.”

Sansa considered this. If her character made some virtual gold, she could buy things. She didn’t know what things, but the idea sounded good. “What do you do when you spend so long at the Auction House? You can’t have collected that much to sell.”

“I wait until some dumb cunt posts something for well under market value and I buy it and resell for a tidy profit.”

That seemed incredibly complicated for a game that had largely consisted, thus far, of culling wolves and mending wounds through the power of magic. “How do you know about the market value?”

“Gendry wrote a mod. I run it, do the legwork and we split the profits.”

“Okay, that seems reasonable.” Sansa knew about ‘mods’, because every time Gendry came for dinner at the moment, he talked about the modification programmes he was coding for the game. He claimed he would write one that allowed her to heal for maximum efficiency, which seemed surplus to current requirements but he’d been so thrilled with the idea Sansa had agreed to test it once it was written.

A chime sounded in Sansa’s ear.

Gendry had removed the nice artificial lady who used to announce on the coms that players had come online, and now they just got a generic chime noise. It was disappointing, she’d practiced for ages saying “Sansa” in her nicest, friendliest voice for the coms lady.

“Hey what’s up bitches,” said Arya’s voice.

“Morning you little shit,” rumbled Sandor.

“You’re in the next room to me, Arya. We saw each other ten minutes ago.”

“Well roger that, that’s a big twenty-three nineteen from me, little bird. Over.”

“Shut up Arya.” Sansa smiled despite herself. It had turned out people were now allowed to talk normally over the coms. Arya had, however, found Sansa’s list of CB radio lingo and enjoyed teasing her with it.

“Where are you, Sansy?”

A notification flashed up on Sansa’s screen saying ‘Nymerian has joined the party’.

“I’m now looking for someone called a trainer,” replied Sansa.

After some searching, she found a character from ancient House Gardner who, if given a small sum of coin, would allow her to pick flowers. It seemed a little harsh to have to pay to collect them, but she went ahead and did it.

Alayne was collecting gillyflowers and Valyrian-leaf when a large, blond, shirtless human male paladin appeared in front of her and started dancing.

“Hello Arya,” Sansa said blandly, in the same way she had dealt with Harry.

“Look at my magnificent abs,” said Arya. Her character grabbed his crotch and thrust it several times at Sansa’s character.

Alayne jiggled her breasts in response, something that Sansa succeeded at ignoring most of the time now. “Your, um, toon is certainly muscular. But why are you shirtless?”

“If you could play as a huge shirtless blond man, wouldn’t you?”

“Well no because I could have, but I chose to make my lady elf. Who wears clothes.”

“Hey, Little Miss Lasttogetthejoke, it’s funny. Funnier than if I ran around with my tits out.”

Alayne had recently had a gear upgrade, a dress that had good enough statistics to please the party and practical enough construction to please Sansa. It covered all of her body to a tasteful degree too.

She turned away from the still thrusting Nymerian and ran towards some more flowers.

She spotted a small building through the trees and moved to investigate.

A variety of virtual cats surrounded the cabin, all frolicking in the grass, chasing bugs and yawning.

The sight enchanted Sansa. Genuinely enchanted, not pretending-to-be-civil-to-your-ex enchanted.

“Look Arya, there is a lady here in a cabin with a bunch of cats.”

Nymerian ran over to join her. “Those will be non-combat pets.”

“Well done, you found the common cat vendor,” said Sandor. “Now try getting the rare white kitten from some orphan who spawns here in the city. Hard as fuck to catch the kid, but the cat sells for a fuckload of gold.”

“Good one Sandor,” said Arya, sounding wry. “You regularly purchase a kitten from an orphan for a pittance then resell the kitten for a huge profit, whilst the orphan presumably goes off to starve for another day.”

“Aye that’s about right.”

Sansa frowned, temporarily ignoring the ethics of purchasing cheap kittens from virtual orphans. “So, my character can get a virtual pet?”

“I think there are pet battles and shit you can do with them but let’s not fucking over complicate things,” Sandor replied.

Arya hummed. “It follows you around. You can get better pets than that. Hot Pie has a tiny special edition Targaryen dragon pet. I want the clockwork yeti.”

Sansa was overwhelmed with how cute the cats were. “They are so lovely,” she said in hushed tones. “There’s a calico cat, and a silver tabby as well. Oh my gods and an orange one.” The little ginger cat pounced on an imaginary bug and Sansa made a high-pitched noise in the back of her throat. “I want the orange tabby.”

“No one ever wants the ginger one,” said Sandor. “They sell for less at the Auction House than you can buy them from the vendor.”

Sansa touched her hair instinctively. It was still as relentlessly ginger as it always was.

She felt a kinship with the little orange cat no one else wanted as a pet.

The cats sat down and delicately licked its paw.

She made the high-pitched noise again.

“What the fuck, are you okay Sans?” asked Arya.

Sansa purchased the cat from the lady in the cabin for a sum that was a sizeable chunk of the coin her character had accumulated. She would definitely need to sell the flowers she’d picked.

She clicked on the cat carrier in her inventory and the orange cat appeared behind her. She moved Alayne a few steps and the cat trotted obediently behind her.

“I shall name her Princess,” Sansa said proudly.

“You can’t fucking name your non-combat pet, Sansa,” said Arya in long-suffering tones.

“Well I’m role-playing that her name is Princess,” replied Sansa loftily.

“She has you there,” said Sandor.

Sansa clicked on her quest log as Princess sat at her feet. “Oh gods I need to do a quest in the Riverrun Tram.” She paused and wrinkled her nose. “Our Mum is from Riverrun.”

Arya made a disgusted noise. “Ugh I already did that one. Maybe Hound will go with you?

Sandor sighed gustily. Sansa hoped his microphone covering was not absorbent. “Aye, I’ll go with you. Meet me outside the Auction House, girl.”

Arya’s paladin ran off to dance shirtless with people in the small town that existed in the forest and Sansa ran back to Queen’s Landing.

Hound the dwarf warrior was waiting for her on the Auction House steps. He stood beside a low-level human character with very fancy looking gear.

“Look at this fucking twink,” growled Sandor. “All BoE epic gear. Fucker must have bought some in-game gold.”

Sansa frowned as she tried to parse what Sandor had said.

“Twinks are low level characters in a game who are given help and gear from a high-level character,” said Arya, apparently anticipating Sansa’s query.

“BoE means Bind on Equip,” said Sandor, clearly having the same thought. “Cunts that have good gear drop from monsters can resell it if they don’t use it themselves. Even bigger cunts who pay real money for in-game gold can use it to buy a full set of the best gear.”

Sansa gasped. “Wait, so people pay real money for gold on the game?”

“Not legally,” replied Arya. “Only if you want to risk getting banned.”

“That…” Sansa scrunched up her nose. “That seems excessive, for clothes that aren’t actually real.”

“I’m sure some people use their gold to buy non-combat pets as well. The rare Black Tabby cat is worth a fuckton.” Sandor sounded wistful.

Sansa smiled at her orange cat and noted the new terms in the notebook she kept by her computer.

“We need to head through the tram between Queen’s Landing and Winterfall,” Sandor said, his character suddenly darting away from the Auction House steps and towards the district where the entry to the tram was housed, “and the quest is at the Winterfall end. You need to do a delivery.

Sansa and Princess followed him with some trepidation. “Is it safe?”

“You’ll be with me.”

“Shit,” said Arya suddenly. “Gendry wants me to come over for a booty call.”

Knowledge of the costumes she found threatened to reappear and Sansa shoved it back down. “Arya, that’s way too much information.”

Arya just laughed. “Later suckers.”

It was just her and Sandor again. Sansa had a nervous flutter of excitement in her tummy.

Sansa followed Sandor down the ramp into the tram, moving deeper into the series of tunnels it was constructed of.

“Stick with me,” he instructed.

There was no danger of Sansa and Princess wandering off alone. She was profoundly wary of the unknown eldritch dangers that might lurk in the tramway. Visions of mighty tentacles and faceless, nameless horrors assaulted her imagination.

No one had ever been clear with her what the danger was down here.

Virtual water ran down the dank stone walls of the tram. Rats skittered around and there was an ominous rumbling of far off steampunk machinery that powered the tramway.

They moved together, deeper into the bowels of the tram tunnels.

Sansa jumped at every clang of machinery and vermin scream.

Her eyes wide, she looked down every dark tunnel, expecting death to come swiftly and without pity.

“What the fuck?” murmured Sandor.

Sansa moved her mouse to pan her view around and gasped at the sight.

Two elves, wearing only the skimpy underwear that all characters came with, were kneeling in front of each other at the tram station. The female elf did the default breast jiggle.

“Fucks sake,” said Sandor. “Well here you go, you get to experience the full fucking horror of the tram.”

As Alayne and Hound moved closer, the conversation the characters were having became publicly visible in Sansa’s chat window.

**Widowswail groans softly, biting your neck oh so gently, her breath hard against your manly gullet. “Oh…”**

“Widowswail?” said Sandor. “That’s a cunt name.”

Sansa was both perplexed and intrigued.

Apparently this was a different kind of eldritch horror than what she’d been picturing.

**Knightofthevale smiles and his fingers move in a circular motion. “Sounds like someone is enjoying herself.”**

“Seven Hells, Knightofthevale is even more of a cunt name.”

Sansa gasped, recognition dawning. “Sandor, that’s Harry Hardyng. My ex. I ran into him this morning at the company.”

Princess did a yawn and luxurious stretch, oblivious to the unfolding scene.

**Widowswail moves her hips experimentally against your hand, emitting a low wimper. “Maybe…”**

**Knightofthevale smirks and lets a long finger slip inside you, at the same time he leans forward and kisses you deeply,** **his tongue battling yours for dominance.**

Sandor made a disgusted noise. “Didn’t he dump you?”

“I… yes. Technically, he dumped me.”

“What a fuckwit.”

Sansa eyed the mostly naked elves, who were apparently unaware they had an audience. “He said I should look him up in the game if I wanted a good time for old times sake. I guess this must have been what he meant. This is… not my idea of a good time.”

**Widowswail’s gasp and girly giggle is muffled by your kiss, and her nails dig slightly into your arm. “That’s not playing fair, lover.”**

**Knightofthevale grins and swirls his fingers around your delicate tissue, then pulls them away coated with your moist and dripping wetness.**

**Widowswail, overcome with desire, boldly grasps Knightofthevale’s turgid phallus in her womanly hand.**

**Knightofthevale emits a manly moan, thrusting his hips towards Widowswail’s tiny hand.**

Sandor sighed heavily. Again. “Right. I’m going to fucking sort this.”

“Sandor?” Sansa heard typing through Sandor’s microphone. She looked back at the chat window.

**Hound reveals his head from the shadows and begins to unzip his pantaloons.**

“Oh my,” said Sansa, covering her mouth with her hand.

Sandor made a noise that sounded suspiciously like it wanted to be a laugh.

The typing continued.

**Hound removes his Dwarven Missile Launcher and begins to stroke the barrel ever so slowly.**

**Hound lets out a quiet gasp as the Missile Launcher expands in his hand.**

Sansa laughed at that. “Sandor you are terrible.”

**Widowswail growls menacingly at Hound.**

**Knightofthevale snarls “good Ser it is time for you to leave this place.”**

“Well, looks like we’ve been caught,” said Sandor dryly.

Sansa grinned at the screen. “Hey there is no ‘we’. You’re the one with the ‘missile launcher’.”

Sandor snorted. “May as well make the most of this fuckery. They want some role-play, I’ll give them some fucking role-play.”

**Hound gropes Knightofthevale.**

**Hound compares his Missile Launcher to Knightofthevale’s. Hound wins.**

**Hound joins the queue to experience Knightofthevale’s sticky fingers.**

**Hound offers Knightofthevale a moist towelette.**

Sansa howled with laughter. “Sandor that’s awful. Harry will be so upset.”

“Maybe he shouldn’t be publicly cyber-fucking then. Besides, he’ll never know it was us who found him out.”

**Hound says “AYE, TAKE ME MANLY THRUSTS.”**

**Hound says “DO NOT RUN AWAY WIDOWSCUNT AND CUNTOFTHEVALE. THE MIGHTY HOUND IS HERE TO SERVICE YOU.”**

  
Tears of mirth were running down Sansa’s face. “Oh my gods Sandor, this is the best thing I’ve ever seen.”

Sandor laughed then, raspy and delightful. “Harry’s a useless cunt. You are far too good for the likes of him.”

**Widowswail smiles with gentle regret. “Maybe we should finish this another time…”**

**Widowswail smiles at Knightofthevale. “I’ll get back to you. Take the hidden path back to Queen’s Landing.”**

**Knightofthevale howls in outrage, beating his manly chest with his fists in rage.**

Sansa took a shaky breath, trying to calm her giggle fits. “Might be a good idea to get on the tram and leave Harry and his friend in peace.”

“Aye, I’ll put my missile launcher away.”

Sansa started giggling again.

They, with Princess trotting behind, boarded the tram that travelled between cities, leaving the outraged Knightofthevale and Widowswail behind them.

“Fuck me the RP server brings out some weirdos,” said Sandor as they entered the city.

“I’d have thought that was something they’d do on private chat.” Sansa had recently learned about being able to use the different chat settings, from broadcasting messages to a party, to her guild, to the zone in general or to an individual person.

“Aye, they were probably getting off on doing it publicly.” Sandor paused. “So why was Harry stupid enough to dump you?”

Sansa considered a generic response, but the trip into the tram had made her feel comfortable to admit the awkward truth. “He said I was bad at... you know.”

“What, cooking?”

Sansa huffed. “Sandor that’s sexist. No, um, intimate relations.”

There was a loaded pause.

“He told you that you were bad at fucking,” said Sandor flatly.

Sansa sighed. “Yes.”

“Not possible.” Sandor’s voice was definitive.

Sansa frowned at the screen. The characters walked the streets of Winterfall, Princess happily trotting behind them. “I don’t understand.”

“You’re sexy as fuck,” said Sandor in a low voice. “Even if you just lay there like a dead fish, fucking you would still be enjoyable.”

There was a lot to unpack about that statement.

Sansa settled on, “Thanks?” whilst she tried to work out how she felt.

‘Dead fish’ aside, she was leaning towards a heady combination of confused and aroused.

“I’m not coming on to you,” he muttered.

“What?” Sansa blurted.

“This isn’t a come on, it’s just the fucking truth.”

Arousal was winning.

“Well what if I wanted it to be a come on?” Sansa blurted, before she could overthink what she was saying.

Sandor’s microphone made the staticky noise again. “Are you fucking blind, girl?”

Sansa frowned. “Of course not.”

Sandor harrumphed. “You’re too fucking good for the likes of me.”

Sansa had no idea how to respond to that statement. “Would you do anything like that?” she asked finally, to distract Sandor from any awkwardness.

“Publicly cyberfuck in the Riverrun Tram? No.”

“No, I meant in private.” Sansa squirmed in her seat. “That sort of talk.”

“If I want a wank, I’ll just have a wank.”

Sansa felt she should be scandalised hearing about a man’s masturbatory habits, but Sandor was always so honest, she could not bring herself to be shocked.

“I see. I can see the appeal though.” Sansa cleared her throat. “It would be easier than doing it in real life and risking disappointment.”

Sandor hummed. “Harry Fucking Hardyng is full of shit. He’s a fucking idiot and you shouldn’t believe what he said.”

“I don’t, not really.” Sansa did have her doubts, but she didn’t want to admit that. “I was probably going to break up with him anyway, he just got in first.”

“Fucking someone can be disappointing. That’s just part of life.”

Sansa nodded, though Sandor couldn’t see her. “With the right person it probably isn’t constantly bad though. People seem to think it’s really good and fun.”

“Well I wouldn’t know.” Sandor sounded resigned.

“Me either,” Sansa admitted softly.

There was a significant silence on the coms.

The chime indicated that someone else had joined the coms channel.

“Hello everyone,” said Hot Pie, cheerfully.

They greeted him in turn, then another silence fell.

“So, Sandor. Have you considered getting your shirts tailored to your body?” blurted Sansa.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The tram scene was inspired by a webpage that went viral in gaming circles in 2007, about some elves caught cybering in the Deeprun Tram in World of Warcraft.   
> An archived link can be found: [Here](http://web.archive.org/web/20070112055238/http://www.se7en-x.com/yarhump/)


	3. The measure of a man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa: Alayne, elf priest.  
> Sandor: Hound, dwarf warrior.  
> Arya: Nymerian, human paladin.  
> Gendry: Bull, gnome warlock.  
> Hot Pie: Gâteaux, elf hunter.   
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/159497572@N07/50245299663/in/dateposted-public/)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to [Prairie_Garden_Girl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prairie_Garden_Girl/pseuds/Prairie_Garden_Girl) for performing the official 'Does This Makes Sense To Non Geeks?' check.

Sansa smiled as Sandor uneasily eyed the display of glittering butterfly hair clips beside the till.

“Mostly I do women’s clothes, because there was an obvious need for garments catering for the needs of women outside of the usual range that stores stock. Not just made larger or smaller, but designed to be flattering and to fit correctly for someone’s body shape.” Sansa removed her measuring kit from its spot under the counter and waved it at Sandor. “But I’d like to have a line of men’s clothes too. Keep a rack or two in stock, rather than just doing alterations. So really, you are doing me a favour by getting some practice in.”

“Aye, Hot Pie was pleased with his Fat Pants.” Sandor took one clip off the display as he spoke, squinting at it.

“I don’t like the word ‘fat’,” said Sansa reproachfully. “‘Fuller figured’ is much nicer. All bodies are beautiful, and all people deserve to look their best.”

Sandor snorted. “Saving the world, one elasticated waistline at a time?”

“Everyday fashion should be both comfortable and stylish,” replied Sansa primly, before she realised Sandor was teasing her. She smiled at him then. “Shall we begin?”

The delicate metallic pink wings of the butterfly clip Sandor was holding quivered dramatically. He carefully replaced it back in the display. “Aye. What do you want me to do?”

“Come back into my workshop.” Sansa hurried over and turned the sign on the door to ‘closed’ and locked it, just to be safe. “I need to take your measurements for the custom shirt.”

Sandor cleared his throat, but followed her as she walked through the fringe of beads hanging from the archway that marked the transition from shop floor to her workshop. “Do you need me to get my kit off?” he asked carefully.

Sansa halted mid stride, captured by the mental image of Sandor stripping naked and letting her take measurements all over. “No,” she squeaked, then cleared her own throat. “You can stay dressed,” she said more normally. “Shirt and pants are fine, if you could take your jacket off. I just need to feel you if that’s okay.”

Sandor blinked several times before removing his security guard jacket. “Feel me?”

Sansa took the jacket off him, her hands feeling oddly clumsy. It was warm from his body heat. She hung it from one of her clothing racks as she spoke. “Just your chest and waist and such. So I can aim my measurements. I like to check before I touch people, it can be a sensitive thing for some clients.”

“You can feel me,” he said, sounding a touch strangled.

Sansa opened her tailors kit, selecting her favourite measuring tape. She could feel Sandor watching her, the atmosphere in her workshop seeming to thicken. Her heart raced and she was sure her cheeks were pink.

“Alright.” Sansa stood in front of him, tapping the measuring tape on her palm. She licked her lips, then glanced up at Sandor’s face.

He was watching her mouth, the unscarred side of his face flushing as pink as she suspected hers was.

“Neck first,” she said, her voice husky. She stood on tiptoes to loop the tape measure around his neck, carefully noting down the first measurement with one hand and keeping the loop in place with the other. “I need to, um, insert my finger.”

He gusted a breath out. “Aye,” he rasped.

She slid a finger between the skin on the side of his neck and the tape, below where his beard ended. His skin was hot, and she felt him swallow heavily against the back of her finger. “I take the two measurements to allow for extra room in the collar if you need it,” she explained in a professional voice, to cover her rapidly growing arousal. Harry had never had this effect on her, she suddenly realised. Even naked and in bed with him she’d never been so turned on. 

“Aye,” he said again in a higher pitched tone, which seemed to be all he could manage.

“And your chest,” she said, breathlessness overcoming professionalism. “I need to, ah…” She could not quite manage the words, so she just stepped forward and wrapped the tape measure around Sandor’s broad chest. It took two goes to get the tape all the way around him because her cheek was in perilous proximity to his chest and her hands wouldn’t cooperate.

He smelled wonderful, she realised. Like fresh coffee and grapefruit shower gel.

“Try to relax,” she whispered, “and breathe out.”

His torso was rigid under her hands, but he let out another breath. She noted the measurement, not daring to look anywhere except his chest and the sheet of paper.

“Now waist,” she croaked, moving the loop of tape down his body. She carefully felt for his waistline. He was heavily muscled under her fingertips, clearly defined even through his work shirt.

She noted the number, though she wasn’t paying attention and hoped it was correct.

“I need to measure your length,” she said to his shirt buttons, which seemed to be the safest point of focus.

He made an alarmed noise and she dragged her gaze up to his face, which had gone from pink to red.

“Length of the shirt,” she said, and he nodded rapidly. 

She rested the end of the tape on the top of his shoulder and pulled it down, finally looking down. A noticeable bulge strained the front of his work trousers and she froze. There was no way she could rest the tape down there without touching it.

She glanced back at his face. He had screwed his eyes shut and seemed to be trying to relax.

“Sandor,” Sansa murmured, letting the measuring tape fall to the floor. She reached up to cup the scarred side of his face, swiping her thumb over the gnarled ridges of his skin.

He opened his eyes and stared down at her. She leaned in closer and tilted her face towards his.

“Oh thank fuck,” he said, and bent down the rest of the way to kiss her.

The brush of his lips against hers was electric, and Sansa couldn’t help but moan into his mouth in response. He rested his hands on her waist, pulling her a little closer to him. Sansa ran her free hand up his body, coming to rest on his firm upper arm.

“SANSA STARK.” Arya’s voice sounded from outside the shop and Sansa winced at the sudden intrusion on their moment.

She and Sandor stared at each other from intensely close proximity, breathing heavily.

“I KNOW YOU ARE IN THERE. OPEN THIS DOOR RIGHT NOW.”

Sansa loved her sister very much, but at that moment she would have happily traded her in for another sister. A quieter and more subtle sister. A sister who lived in a different town, far away.

“IT IS THE MIDDLE OF THE DAY. YOU ARE ALWAYS IN THERE AT THIS TIME.”

Sansa wrinkled her nose. “I should let her in.”

Sandor nodded rapidly, before reaching out to stroke the back of his big index finger down her cheek. “Aye, she won’t stop knocking.”

Sansa hurried into the next room to unlock the door of her shop, almost colliding with a rack of petite jeans with her wobbly legs.

“Arya, what’s wrong?” Sansa said as she pulled open the door.

Arya frowned as she pushed past Sansa into the shop. She was clutching a large paper bag. “Nothing’s wrong, I just bought you some Dothraki takeout for lunch since you always get too busy and then Mum complains to me you aren’t eating enough and so I am a kind and benevolent sibling by helping you out. Also I wanted to try their new pomegranate pastries but couldn’t eat them at work because Hot Pie might get upset that we’re not eating his food.”

Sandor emerged from her workshop, holding his jacket hooked over his arm and strategically covering his front. “Need to get back to work,” he rasped.

“What are you…?” Arya looked between them both, then burst out laughing. “Seven hells you two, really? Fucking in the back office?”

“Arya!” said Sansa indignantly. “I was measuring Sandor for a new custom shirt. Not… that other activity.”

Memories of their all too brief kiss surfaced. By the expression on Sandor’s face, he was thinking about the same thing.

“Is that what the kids are calling it these days?” Arya placed the bag beside the till and began to unload a variety of startling flatbreads, roasted meats, and pomegranate pastries.

Sansa ignored her sister in favour of addressing Sandor, who was giving Arya the middle finger as he made his way through the racks and towards the door. “Are you free for more measuring on your lunchbreak tomorrow?” she asked, carefully keeping her voice steady.

Arya made a rude noise in the back of her throat.

Sandor paused. “Aye,” he replied, gazing at her in a way best described as ‘smouldering’. 

“Okay. See you online tonight.”

***

A swirly green portal in an archway signified the entry to the Ruins of Dragonstone. The island where Dragonstone keep sat was across the water, in view but apparently unreachable unless one walked through the archway. Alayne jiggled her breasts at it as Sansa attempted to peer into its unknowable depths.

“Why is it called a dungeon when it’s obviously a castle?” Sansa asked, frowning at the image on her screen.

“That’s just the convention,” answered Hot Pie. “Any private instanced area for a party to adventure in is called a dungeon. Unless it’s a raid. But let’s not overcomplicate things.”

His character, an elven hunter named Gâteaux, jiggled her own breasts at Sansa as they stood together outside the castle/dungeon entry. Gâteaux’s chain mail bikini did not leave much to the imagination.

Hound sat beside them, though Sandor was away from the coms getting some snacks. Sansa had organised her evening’s food and drinks already, a large travel mug filled with hot coffee and a bowl of blueberries for energy.

Sansa’s heart gave a brief flutter every time she looked at Sandor’s online avatar, remembering their kiss in her shop. She wanted another, longer kiss. Nervous as she was about being bad at sex, the more time she spent around Sandor the more she was willing to risk disappointment for the chance to be intimate with him.

They were just awaiting Arya and Gendry, since apparently a full party of five people was required to survive the horrors that the Ruins of Dragonstone contained. Sansa hoped those horrors were markedly different to the horrors of the Riverrun Tram.

“Hot Pie?” said Sansa, peering at the carefully written, extensive list of new lingo she’d recently compiled.

“Yes Sansa?” he replied, with the affection of someone talking to the person responsible for providing them with a comfortable yet stylish and roomy wardrobe.

“How do you say…” Sansa squinted at the word. “Wait, let me write it down.”

She carefully typed the word ‘pwned’ into the party chat window on her screen. The word apparently signified the defeat of an enemy, and she thought it would be especially handy for a dungeon.

Hot Pie made a short, high-pitched squeaking noise, then cleared his throat and said, quite normally, “um. Why do you want to say that, Sans?”

“Well I discovered some new lingo when I studied the zone chat logs. Since the CB radio talk was out of date, I wanted to figure out how gamers talk now. I looked it up online and did some research.”

Hot Pie made a contemplative humming noise before speaking, “You pronounced it as ‘powned’ as in the word ‘owned’ but starting with a p. It’s generally for typed chat use rather than spoken though. It works better if you can see it.”

Sansa noted all of this down. “Okay thank you.”

“But it’s not really u….”

A double chime of the coms interrupted whatever Hot Pie was about to say.

“Bitches,” said Arya, her handsome blond paladin Nymerian appearing beside Alayne as she logged in to the game.

“Hi everyone,” said Gendry. His character was a pink-haired gnome warlock named Bull. Bull also had a ‘pet’ demon that followed him around, who, bafflingly, was in the form of a whip-wielding horned woman with large breasts and a chain mail bikini similar to the one Hot Pie’s hunter wore.

“Hi Arya and Gendry,” said Sansa. Her nerves came flooding back at the reminder the party was almost assembled and she would be responsible for keeping everyone alive.

“I’m back,” Sandor mumbled over the coms, and Sansa’s heart gave an obligatory flutter.

She longed to get him alone again tomorrow so they could talk about the kiss. Hopefully that would also lead to more kissing.

“Everyone ready?” asked Arya.

“We should get our PCs together at Arya and Sansa’s house, have a LAN party,” said Gendry, his voice wistful. “Then we’d all be in the same room.”

“Gendry please,” said Arya, “this is not the dark ages. We play online like civilised people.”

Sansa smiled as she remembered her siblings having LAN parties when they were much younger, all connecting up their computers with cords everywhere and driving their Mum crazy with the clutter.

Everyone entered the Ruins of Dragonstone together through the swirly portal. They appeared on the docks of Dragonstone island, the ruins of the ancient keep above them. The dragon-shaped castle, wrought by magic over a thousand years ago, did not have the scaffolding that it boasted in the real world from the modern reconstruction attempts. Instead all the towers jutted jagged into the sky and creeping vines covered everything. Seagulls screamed overhead, and Sansa could almost feel the breeze from the virtual ocean. 

“Are we all ready to get me the Needle of Vengeance from the final boss?” said Arya brightly.

“What if I want to use that sword for tanking, and roll against you?” asked Sandor.

Sansa recalled that they would have to roll a virtual dice for a number between one and one hundred if they wished to claim any high-level items dropped by monsters in the dungeon. Arya had explained that it was fine for people who were friends to sort it out amongst themselves, but that if they had a stranger in the group it would stop them ‘ninja looting’ and stealing items. Sansa was concerned as to why anyone would want to steal a fake pretend item in a game but apparently it was surprisingly common.

“Me too,” interjected Hot Pie. “Everything is a Hunter weapon.”

“Fuck you both,” said Arya caustically. “Needle of Vengeance is for paladins.”

Alayne’s cat, Princess, who accompanied her everywhere, stretched and yawned. Sansa took another swig of coffee from her thermos.

“Nothing is ever for warlocks,” said Gendry glumly. His demon cackled manically and performed a flip mid-air.

Alayne and Gâteaux did a synchronised breast jiggle and Sansa sighed.

Hot Pie harrumphed and moved his character forward. “I need to pull these undead Targaryen footsoldiers so they attack us over here.”

Gâteaux aimed her bow and shot into the group of skeletal Targaryen foot soldiers lurking near an outbuilding at the foot of the keep. They started running towards the party in a clatter of bones.

“Not that group, you elvish cunt,” growled Sandor. “You’ve pulled too fucking many.”

The group reached them, and Hound started swinging his axe.

“Hey, at least I have the curves to fill out this bikini,” said Hot Pie indignantly. “Unlike a certain dwarf I can mention.”

“For fucks sake, we don’t need fantasy racism,” said Arya as Nymerian waded into the fray beside Hound. “Both of you shut up and kill the fucking skeletons.”

Sansa watched the health bars of the group, carefully using her magic any time they took too much damage. “Flash Heal, Major Heal, Group Heal,” she muttered under her breath.

When the excessively large group lay in heaps of scattered bone around the party, cheers sounded over the coms.

Sansa consulted her notes. “PWNED THOSE N00BS!!!111” she typed into the party chat window, making sure she included enough exclamation points and ones to indicate her enthusiasm, as per the guidelines she had read.

“What the fuck, Sans,” said Arya over the coms.

“Do you like it? I’ve been learning gamer speak.”

“It’s very enthusiastic,” said Gendry kindly.

“Pull the next lot,” said Sandor to Hot Pie, sounding slightly strangled.

Sansa had plenty of opportunities to proudly contribute appropriate gamer phrases as they moved through the dungeon. She used “Having teh lulz” when Hot Pie said something funny as the party traversed the wilds of Aegon’s Garden. She got to say a celebratory “W00t” several times as they defeated a zombie Visenya Targaryen atop the bone dragon Vhagar in the Sea Dragon Tower, and another zombie, Rhaena Targaryen, accompanied by the bone dragon Dreamfyre, shortly afterwards in the Stone Drum. The many low-level slimes at the foot of the Wind Wyrm she correctly called “trash n00bs” and that their group was, of course, “pwning” them.

It was all going very well until the last boss.

“Just one last fucking fight,’’ said Arya, sounding a little fatigued after several hours of play.

Sansa had had several cups worth of coffee and was feeling like she could stay awake and alert until at least next century.

“Jaehaerys I Targaryen,” said Hot Pie in hushed tones. “The Conciliator himself. Jaehaerys the Wise.”

“Since when did you know anything fucking thing about history?” asked Arya.

“Some of us paid attention in school, Arya,” said Sansa. “There’s a whole module on early Targaryen monarchs in the first year of high school.”

“I have a graduate degree in Conquest-era History,” said Hot Pie indignantly. “So naturally after I graduated it was either become a Librarian or go to Culinary school. I went to Culinary school.”

“Can we get the fuck on with this?” said Sandor impatiently.

Gendry, who rarely spoke much over the coms and was more of a ‘doer’ than a ‘talker’ suddenly directed his character, Bull, to run into the room where the end boss was.

“Use your fucking words Gendry,” said Arya with profound exasperation. “We talked about this.”

There was a flash of light around all of them as something teleported their characters into the same area as Bull.

The undead form of Jaehaerys I Targaryen stood beside the legendary table in the Chamber of the Painted Table. His skin was wizened and purple, he sported a long white beard that dripped with fluids of decay, and a rusty circlet sat upon his brow.

“BEHOLD,” the creature bellowed, “WHO DARES TO DISTURB MY CASTLE? YOU WILL PERISH IN YOUR FOOLISH MORTAL PURSUITS.”

Jaehaerys I slashed his hand down and green wildfire erupted from the ground at their feet. Before any of them could do more than stare, Alayne, Gâteaux, Hound, Nymerian and Bull lay dead upon the chamber floor.

“Well, fuck,” said Arya.

“Oh no, he shizzled our fizzle.” Sansa paused and consulted her lingo notes again. “Or did he fizzle our shizzle? I’m not sure.”

Every time a character died their ghost appeared in the nearest graveyard and they had to run back to the start of the dungeon, then come back to life at the dungeon entrance. They then ran back to where they had died in order to resume where they’d left off.

Luckily it only took five minutes of low-key bickering for all the characters to make it back to the Chamber of the Painted Table, because they’d already killed everything else in the dungeon.

“Alright,” said Sandor when everyone was ready again. “Let’s avoid the green shit this time.”

On the second attempt they lasted twenty seconds, in which wildfire immediately killed Nymerian, Bull and Gâteaux. Hound reached Jaehaerys I and had one swipe of his axe, and received one heal from Alayne, before they too died from wildfire. 

Their third attempt lasted thirty seconds, until Bull’s demon cracked her whip and attempted to do a seduce spell upon Jaehaerys, resulting in a cataclysm of wildfire.

They delayed the fourth attempt whilst Arya and Sandor consulted the internet on potential strategies, then spent ten minutes arguing about which one was the best. They went for Arya’s one first. The attempt lasted about a minute and got the undead king to half health before they all died.

The fifth attempt ended when Hot Pie got sidetracked by the historical inaccuracies of the Chamber of the Painted Table and his character exploded in a trap, killing them all.

Their sixth attempt was also unsuccessful because Sansa got so distracted thinking about kissing Sandor that she forgot to heal him in time.

They used Sandor’s strategy for the seventh attempt and finally killed the undead Jaehaerys I Targaryen. Sansa was relieved, because she was running out of ways to phrase encouraging “w00ts” and “go gamerz!!1”. She’d also had too much coffee and needed to stop before she started to taste colours or develop the gift of prophecy.

There were tired cheers over the coms as Jaehaerys croaked “and now I join you, Alysanne my eternal love,” and fell to the ground in a squelch of unliving flesh.

“Let’s check the loot,” said Arya, brightening now that things were almost concluded. Her character ran over to the corpse and bent down.

Sansa typed into her party chat window, “1337 HAX0R!!! Killage!”, which she had been saving for a special occasion. Killing a boss of a dungeon seemed special enough.

Arya’s paladin stopped mid-loot. “Do you even know what that means, Sansy?” she asked, sounding amused.

“Yes,” Sansa replied loftily. “It means we did a wonderful job slaying the boss.” She was privately unconvinced that ‘1337’ was even a word, but apparently the numbers stood in for the letters ‘leet’ and it meant that something was really good. ‘Hax0r’ was even more unclear, but it seemed to have something to do with computer hacking and linking that to success.

“Right,” said Arya dubiously. She huffed a sigh that gusted over her microphone. “He dropped fucking tank boots. Lame.”

“I’ll take those then,” said Sandor smugly.

“Congratulations Sandor,” said Sansa, trying to sound as if she didn’t want to reach down the coms and kiss him.

“The one item that hunters can’t wear,” said Hot Pie sadly.

“We also have some healer gloves for Sansa and some gems we can sell. And for some fucking reason a roast chicken dinner?”

“Mine,” said Sandor. “Hound fucking loves chicken.”

Arya made a grumbling noise. “Is that a roleplaying thing? You’re roleplaying as a character that loves chicken?”

“Aye.” Hound sat down beside the rumbled corpse and began to eat the virtual chicken dinner.

“Right,” said Arya. “Gendry and Sandor can sell the gems since they are the Auction House wizards. I need to go and have my pre-bedtime shower before Sansa goes in the bathroom and spends an entire fucking hour grooming instead of letting the normal people sleep.”

“Hey,” said Sansa indignantly. “That was only that one time and it’s not my fault the hair mask took so long to apply.”

“Oh, hasks can be such a pain,” said Hot Pie sympathetically.

“Later, dorks,” said Arya.

“Aye, I’m tired as fuck. See you all tomorrow,” Sandor said.

Sansa’s heart gave another flutter. He did mean see them all tomorrow, his colleagues as well as her for another measuring session.

“Goodnight Sandor, goodnight everyone else,” said Sansa, smiling happily at the screen as she too disconnected the session.


End file.
